"With profound gratitude." Mrs. Coleman filled an empty bottle, took
a piece of folded brown paper out of the fireplace cupboard, untied a
coil of twine, made up a compact little parcel, and gave it to the
Major.

"A thousand thanks. If faith now can really cure, I shall be well in
a week."

Mrs. Zachariah smiled again.

"Are you Dissenters?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes. Independents."

"I am not surprised. Ever since Cromwell's days you have always been
on the side of liberty; but are you strict--I don't know exactly what
to call it--go to the prayer-meetings--and so on?"

"We are both members of the church, and Mr. Coleman is a deacon,"
replied Mrs. Zachariah, with a gravity not hitherto observable.

She looked out of the window, and saw him coming down the street.
She placed the kettle nearer the fire, put the tea in the teapot, and
sat down again. He came upstairs, went straight into his bedroom,
cleaned himself as much as possible, changed his coat, and entered.
The Major, being pressed, consented to take tea, and Mrs. Zachariah
was a cheerful and even talkative hostess, to the surprise of at
least one member of the company. She sat next to her husband, and
the Major sat opposite. Three silver spoons and silver sugar-tongs
had been put on the table. Ordinarily the spoons were pewter.